


as long as i am with you

by GryfoTheGreat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mob, Birthday Presents, F/M, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Organized Crime, Seasons, Seven Deadly Sins, Teahouse AU, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryfoTheGreat/pseuds/GryfoTheGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...my heart continues to beat. Collection of oneshots written for RivaMika Week 2 on Tumblr. Complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the weaver and the cowherd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 1:Legendary Lovers.  
> A love written in old scrolls and constellations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, RivaMika  
> Notes: I'M BACK, BABY... with more Wapanese. Oops. I didn't pick a couple on the listy thing, but you can probably guess who they are from the title!

It is a hot midsummer's day, and the air is sluggish with heat. All the doors and windows of their little base have been thrown wide open in the hope of tempting some stray breeze. Levi, recognising the dangers of heat stroke, has forbidden his team from doing any work, and as such most of them spent the day in the little stream a five minute's walk away, submerging as much of their bodies as possible. It had been most difficult to get Jean out of there; right now, he was 'trying to drown himself' in the bathtub, at least according to Connie.

But the sun has long disappeared beneath the horizon, and everyone else is sound asleep, sheets thrown aside, shirts wide open and pants rucked up. Only Mikasa remains awake on the porch, an empty glass of water perched perilously on the rail.

Or maybe not.

“Ackerman?”

Levi is standing in the door, features barely visible. It is unsettling to see him without his cravat, but the prissy garment would be stifling in this weather.

“Captain.” It takes her longer to respond than usual, and her salute is halting. It's too hot.

He waves a hand at her, and she relaxes. Without realising it, she shifts into a defensive position, angling her body sideways to present less of a target to him.

“Why are you still up?” He joins her at the rail, leaning against it heavily.

“Too warm to sleep, sir.” After a noticeable pause, she joins him, careful to keep a certain measure of distance between them.

He nods, instead of hounding her like she would expect. “True.”

Mikasa glances away and returns to her previous task; examining the sky. It's a clear night, with nary a cloud to be seen, and the dark velvety black of the firmament above is studded with all the stars of the cosmos. It is nothing short of gorgeous.

Levi, she notices, is imitating her. His brow creases. “Look at those two,” he finally says, pointing up to indicate two stars, relatively close together, burning brighter than any other. “Vega and... Altair, isn't it?”

The old words, a remnant of the times before the Fall, send a chill down her spine. “Yes, but... I was taught to refer to them as Orihime and Hikoboshi.”

Levi's eyes widen imperceptibly, and her throat closes. Everybody knows about her heritage, but none intimately... except Levi.

She brewed him tea in the ways her Kaachan showed her, cursed at him in her mother's language behind his back, and even played a _koto_ duet with him. For some reason she feels ashamed; how could anyone display themselves as openly as that? But on the other hand, it was freeing, even cathartic, to display even a little of her lost culture to him.

“Well?” He isn't looking at her, speaking to the air. “I'm a curious man, Ackerman. Don't leave me hanging.”

“It isn't a very interesting story.” Her fingers fist in her trousers.

“Tell me.” _This is an order,_ she hears.

She exhales. Turning her eyes to the sky, she begins.

“Ages ago, back when the Sky King, Tentei, ruled the heavens and all beneath it, he had a daughter. Orihime was her name, and she was as beautiful as a star, but more beautiful than even her was the cloth she wove. Her father prized this cloth so dearly that Orihime worked her hardest every day to weave as much of it as possible to please her father, but as a result she was stuck working on the banks of the Amanogawa.”

“How does this relate to stars?” Levi interrupts.

“Well, the Amanogawa is the Milky Way. If you interrupt me, I won't tell you.” She glares at him weakly.

“Sorry, sorry. Please... continue.” The words shock her. Levi? Apologising? But she does as he says and keeps going.

“Orihime despaired that she would never meet anyone to love her, and her father shared her concerns. He arranged for her to meet with the cow herder Hikoboshi, who lived on the other side of the heavenly river. When they met Hikoboshi was enraptured by her hair, dark and thick in a ponytail that reached her feet, and fell in love with her instantly, as did Orihime for him.”

Mikasa pauses to draw breath, and doesn't notice Levi eyeing her hair speculatively.

“The two married and were happy for a brief while, but in the throes of love they abandoned their tasks. Orihime ceased to weave the cloth her father adored, and Hikoboshi did not attend to his herd, letting them roam all over the heavens. This angered the Sky King, and in a fit of rage he decreed that the two be separated by the Amanogawa, never to meet again.”

“Didn't he get them together in the first place?” Levi interjects.

“Royalty rarely make sense.” One notorious example is their king, a useless figurehead who lets the military and the moneyed run his domain.

“You can say that again.” He inclines his head, telling her to go on.

“Despondent, Orihime begged her father to let her see her husband. Seeing her tears, he permitted her to meet Hikoboshi on the seventh day of the seventh month, but only if she finished all her weaving first. Orihime agreed and worked fiercely to finish her work, but on the first occasion they could meet, she found that there was no bridge spanning the Amanogawa that would allow them to cross and meet.”

“A river without a bridge? Wouldn't she have checked first?” Levi wonders.

“She was working very hard all the time, remember?” Mikasa reminds him.

“Ah... Come on, finish it. We're close to the end.”

“Orihime cried so much that a flock of magpies were summoned by her tears. Moved, the magpies formed a bridge with their wings, and thus the two lovers were finally able to meet, on the day called Tanabata. Unfortunately, if it rains, the magpies won't come and poor Orihime and Hikoboshi have to wait until next year. Worse than that, the magpies might get lazy and forget to fly up to the heavens and make the bridge, so if you see one on Tanabata you have to scare it off.” She takes a deep breath. “There. Told you it was boring.”

“No... It was... nice. Sad, though, which is strange for a fairy tale.” He is looking at her straight on, eyes not as sharp as usual.

“I liked it a lot as a child... My mother would always put my hair up in a ponytail. I can't do that now.” She slides a hand through her hair, cropped short. Mikasa would never grow her hair out again, though. Something about it would feel wrong, as if she were unfit to wear that badge of femininity. In any case, she prefers her hair short.

“You could manage, though.” Levi's voice is low.

“Hmm?”

“You could- you could do a ponytail. It’d be short and stubby and pathetic, but...” He sighs. “Ignore that. It's hot. I can't think.”

“Thank you, Captain.” He rolls his eyes and mumbles, but Mikasa is being genuine.

“I'm off. You might just have bored me to sleep.”

“Wait.”

Levi halts, hand braced against the door-frame. “...What?”

“There's one more thing. For Tanabata.”

He turns around slowly. “Yes?”

“...Follow me.” She pushes past him to get through the door, and she hears him hiss. It is worth it, for the momentary gratification.

Levi pads after her as she collects pen, paper, needle and string. She can feel his gaze heavy on her back. Like he said earlier, Levi was a curious person by nature, and impatient too. Mikasa likes this, getting to the chinks in his armour and exploiting him. He does the same to her, so why shouldn't she?

She waves him over to her once she has made the _tanzaku._ She hands one of the slips threaded with string to make it hang to Levi.

“You have to make a wish,” she explains. “You write it on paper, and you hang it on a tree.”

“Who grants the wish? The tree?” He snorts derisively, and makes as if to throw the paper away, but Mikasa catches his wrist.

The contact is electric, and Mikasa feels inexplicable rage burn behind her eyes. “Don’t,” she manges to say. He blinks, and she is so close she can see his pupils dilate. “Please.”

They stay like that for too long. His elevated pulse sets off a strange twisting feeling in her belly. After what feels like an age, Levi lowers his hand. Her hand slides away to fall limply by her side.

“I will.” His voice is rough, and even though he speaks in a whisper it sucker-punches her in the gut. He grabs a pen and scribbles a few words on his _tanzaku_ ; haltingly, Mikasa does the same. Their elbows knock as they write.

Once done, Levi strides off outside. He picks the tree that stands beside Mikasa's bedroom window, the one that constantly rattles its branches against the glass and wakes her up in the dead of night. He picks a branch at random and ties his _tanzaku_ on; he has to stretch up and go on tip-toe to reach it, she notes with amusement.

Mikasa ties her further down the branch. Once done, she steps back to admire their work. The two _tanzaku_ flutter lightly in the weak breeze, and Levi sighs beside her.

“Look, now I'm really bored.” He stifles a yawn as he turns to look at her, and his eyes rove down her body; Mikasa's muscles lock up. “Don't stay up too late,” he finally says, voice gentle, and without ceremony, leaves.

Mikasa stays up for a while, admiring Vega and Altair, before following Levi's example and going to bed... but not before she makes a stop in Sasha's room.

 

When Eren wakes her the following morning, her hair is not scattered all over the pillow, like usual, but scraped up into a scant ponytail. He doesn’t notice the two scraps of paper dangling from a tree branch outside. Even if Eren had seen them, he would only be able to read one, the one that says ' _To live._ ' Mikasa alone knows what the second one says, and that is:

勝つ

 

(To win.)

 


	2. pride is like a blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 2: The Gift.  
> What does an cantankerous man get a rather violent woman whom he dislikes for her birthday? A weapon. Duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, Squad Levi 2.0, RivaMika  
> Notes: Totally inspired by Final Fantasy XIII, except Mikasa’s birthday turns out better than poor Light’s.

“What if.. what if she doesn't like it?” Jaeger is lying on his bed, eyes closed, chest heaving rapidly. “What if she gives out to me?”

Levi sighs, leaning against the wall. “She'll surely appreciate the effort.” _'What a mess,'_ he thinks idly as Eren presses his hands to his eyes; it's just like the boy to work himself into a frenzy over something so small. “This is Mikasa Ackerman we're talking about. If you spat at her, I think she'd be happy.”

Clattering resounds through the base, along with a shriek of “Sasha!” In the kitchen, having mostly finished with the preparations for dinner, Historia/Christa/whatever the hell she's called is making her best attempt to bake a cake; Braus is supposed to be helping her, but Levi doesn't think tomatoes are really the best addition to a sponge cake, even if Ackerman likes them. Springer is decorating frantically, setting the table with the least tarnished cutlery and the crockery with the fewest chips, and hanging paper streamers in inconvenient locations. Kirschtein is holed up in his room wrestling with two knitting needles and several balls of crimson yarn, and Arlert is doing his level best to distract Mikasa out in the forest by asking her to help him with his 3DMG technique.

They had been preparing for the tenth of February for a short while. Armin and Eren approached him with the idea; because Mikasa hadn't had a chance to properly celebrate her birthday in years, what with the daily grind of training and before that, the suffering associated with abject poverty, they wanted to make this birthday, her sixteenth, a special one. Levi had acquiesced, on the condition that the Squad do most of the work.

Levi glances at Eren; if he's not mistaken, the boy is whimpering. He can face up against the most fearsome of the Titans with bullish bravado, but he can't handle planning a birthday. “You have a present for her, correct?”

Eren nods, and rolls off the bed to rummage in a bedside locker. He emerges with a box wrapped in painted paper. “A locket... Armin's idea. With a picture of us three on one side and our squad on the other.” He fidgets with the raw edge of the paper for a while, as Levi tries to get his head around the idea that Mikasa will potentially be carrying an image of him around her neck; on further thought, he doesn't find the idea disagreeable. When Eren speaks, he gets a small shock. “Mikasa isn't exactly a jewellery person... do you think she'll like it?”

Levi pushes himself off the wall. “The only one who can answer that is the birthday girl herself. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Eren groans. Levi takes this as agreement, and makes to leave, but Eren stops him.

“Captain... have you gotten her anything?”

“... No. Why would I?”

Eren doesn't respond. Discomfited, Levi exits, and proceeds to try to rescue the table from Connie's dismal table setting skills.

 

Finally, when all is said and done, the party proves to be a success. Mikasa devours the dinner (wine stew and mashed potato with basil, all with generous lashings of butter, her favourite) with gusto, laughs as Eren tries to sing her Happy Birthday in a falsetto, happily blows out the candles on her prettily iced birthday cake, and accepts her presents with grace. Connie gives her an intricately carved wooden statue of the cat that wanders by (Mikasa has taken quite a liking to the scraggly creature). Sasha gives her a bag of gingerbread hearts, which almost brings Mikasa to tears; according to a quiet Eren, his mother baked gingerbread often. Christoria gifts her with a bottle of musky perfume, which Levi knows Mikasa will like; the soldier is more feminine than she lets on. Jean gives her a hand-knitted jumper made of soft red wool, which, despite being slightly out of proportion and not especially well made, Mikasa adores; when she kisses Jean softly on the cheek, the poor boy flushes a luminescent crimson. Finally, when Eren and Armin present her with the locket, made of wrought silver and inscribed with delicate filigree, Mikasa clasps it immediately around her neck. She hugs her brothers, but soon the rest of the team is sucked in, even Levi.

Levi manages to endure roughly ten seconds of Connie's elbow digging into his back. He barks a command laced with profanity and the rest disperse to clean up the mess. Levi would do it himself, but...

Finally, he and Mikasa are left alone at the table. She is sitting down again, examining the pictures inside her locket with a rare bitter-sweet smile on her face.

“Well, Captain?” She doesn't look up at him, instead choosing to gaze at his picture-self's minuscule face.

“What makes you think I got you something?” He says the words with less acrimony than he would like. In the process of colliding with this girl, constant attrition and anger, she has buffed his sharp edges until they are soft. He hates it.

“Well...” She hesitates. “Is that a present in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Shit. She noticed, and she called his bluff. His face goes as red as Kirschtein's jumper. “A present, you dumbass.” He thrusts it at her, refusing to meet her gaze. Mikasa takes it haltingly, her own cheeks tinged with red.

She unwraps it carefully, taking care not to tear the paper. She opens the simple wooden box with reverence.

“A knife...?” She lifts it up carefully, running a finger along the flat of the blade.

“The handle is human bone. Hanji gave it to me, but since I have no use for it, I decided I might as well give it to you. Shame to throw it away.” Mikasa remains silent, testing the blade against her finger; it draws a single drop of carmine blood. “Don't do that, moron! Look... I know you can protect yourself. God knows, that's one of your few redeeming features. But sometimes... help should be accepted. Comrades should aid each other, should they not?”

“Yes...” Slowly, Mikasa lifts her gaze to his; her eyes are unreadable. “You are right, sir.” She inhales deeply. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” On a whim, he takes her hand and drags his thumb across the wound on her index finger. It is nothing less than a prick, but still. “Go fix yourself up.”

The ice in her eyes has cracked, and he can glimpse something in the deep grey. Affection, maybe, but that is wishful thinking. It's probably hatred. He withdraws his hand.

She stands up gracefully. “Yes, sir.” She drops into a small bow, and brushes away past him.

“Happy birthday, Ackerman,” he says hurriedly, just before she crosses the threshold. He can hear her steps pause, the audible hitch in her breath.

When she leaves, he slumps into a chair, and studies the smear of bright red on his thumb. After a while, he rubs it off with a handkerchief.

 

When she returns from hunting the next day with a deer Sasha killed, Mikasa skins it herself with the knife she gave him, and gives him the largest portion on purpose at dinner. He doesn't thank her, only watches her as her hand brushes against the tell-tale bump on her thigh visible though her skirt that indicates the presence of a holstered knife, and smiles.


	3. blood will have blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 3: Force Majeure.  
> Mafia AU – Bloodshed is their mother tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M (gore, yey)  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, Survey Corps, RivaMika  
> Notes: A continuation of my previous oneshot, [Cage Fights and Cigarettes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1008858/chapters/2001630). To that one anon: it took me four months, but I did it! City Hunter also played a rather significant part.

The base is quiet for once, void of its usual hubbub. Erwin is out, Hanji is having her weekly sleep, and a few others are out on jobs; those who remain have congregated in the lounge, on grubby leatherette couches and armchairs leaking stuffing. 

mir sleeps on Christa's shoulder, who polishes off the bottle of whiskey she and her partner had been sharing. Jean is at the monitor station, keyboard clacking, the glare of the monitors reflected in his wired glasses. Connie scams Sasha and Reiner out of money in a sedate game of poker, and Marco cleans his gun. Armin drafts a heist that she and Eren are supposed to be enacting next week as Eren breathes down his neck. Annie and Bertholdt are in the corner, talking in hushed tones.

Mikasa stretches languidly, enjoying the creak of her bones. Her book slips sideways, and she loses her place; cursing quietly, she tries to find it again with no success. She is too restless to read, and wasn't concentrating on the words at all. She has gone too long without a mission, and her nervous energy is boiling over. She hasn't been in the field since the incident at the Gentleman's Club two weeks ago.

She throws her book onto the floor and huffs. She has made a vow not to think about that, about him. It is not a crush, no matter what Eren may think; it is the fascination of finding someone who is as strong as she is, and maybe even moreso.

(The muscles are a bonus.)

But that is all it is, and Mikasa is determined not to let it get in the way; she learned her mistake last time. The last time she let her heart overpower her head, she lost her family for a second time, and she will not lose it again, no matter how big the threat. Not even to the mysterious Titans.

She is still not sure of the exact nature of the Titans, only that mentioning them to Erwin made him go white as bone. She had been forced to swear not to tell anyone. Mikasa didn't like it, but nobody disobeys the godfather, and the rare few who do never live to tell the tale.

Thus, she has kept quiet, even though it feels like the secret will burn a hole through her brain. She spent most of her time in the gym to distract herself, pretending the punching bag was Levi's angular face, but when her knuckles began to bleed through the bandages Armin forcibly ejected her and sentenced her to immobility.

Suddenly, Jean's machines begin to ping. He adjusts his glasses as everyone focusses on him and begins to type with feverish speed. “It probably isn't a threat, but... get ready just in case.” He pulls his own gun out-but not fast enough. A bullet pierces one of his monitors, and before anyone has even raised a weapon, the door crashes open and a group of heavily armed men (or women; they are wearing full body armour, so gender is near impossible to discern) rush into the room and begin to fire. Most of the shots miss, but one-

One heads straight towards Eren.

Mikasa's mind slows down, calculating trajectory and speed. It will take the bullet roughly two seconds to lodge in her brother's brain.

She does the illogical thing and uses the two seconds to throw herself in front of Eren and take the bullet for him; it enters her back and punctures her right shoulder.

The pain is blinding, and the bang of Eren's gun as he fires over her shoulder at his assailant sounds like a bomb. “Get out!” he yells, pulling her up.

“I can't leave you!”

“You're injured! Go, Mikasa! Please!” His green eyes are pleading, and from the shake in his voice she can tell that he is close to tears. She nods, and runs, launching herself out of the window.

She doesn't make it far before she collapses to slide down a wall, leaving a streak of blood on the dirty paint. She pulls her scarf off and uses it to apply pressure to the wound. She is beginning to go into shock, something she can't risk. What if one of the intruders follow her?

Unfortunately, one does, but he hasn't noticed her yet. The man blunders around, eyes scanning for her. One-handed, she draws her gun, aims, and fires. Her aim is off; she meant to shoot him in the head, but instead she nails him in the neck. That does the job, so she isn't fussed, but the kill saps the very last of her strength; her arm slackens and falls, gun clattering onto blood-soaked pavement. Her vision begins to blur around the edges, and the arm that presses her scarf to the bullet wound is trembling.

She is well on her way to unconsciousness when the coal black Hummer pulls up, and three besuited men spill out.

“Where'd they go?” a voice wonders. “Slippery little shits, those Titans.”

“Yeah, but- Fuck... Is that the Red Widow?” A different voice responds this time, shocked.

“Shit, it is...! Levi!”

“What? Why the f-”

Her eyes snap open as a black and white shape comes into focus to form a man in a natty suit made misshapen with armour, a black case slung over his back; she has no doubt it contains a rifle.

“Just the man I didn't want to see,” she deadpans, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Stop running your mouth. What happened?” He sinks to his knees in front of her, red staining his knees.

“... Titans invaded our base. I got in the way.”

He swears. “I fucking warned you!”

“I told Erwin, and he told me to shut up or face a firing squad. I don't know anything beyond that!” She bares her teeth at him in a savage snarl, despite the blood pumping out of her.

His forehead creases. “...Where's your base?”

“If you think I'll tell you,” she grinds out, “you can think again.”

“Your brothers are dying,” he hisses, “and you won't help me?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “I am loyal... something you wouldn't know about.”

Levi growls. “Well, if you won't tell me willingly...” His hand clamps around her shoulder, fingers digging into the entry hole the bullet left behind. She lets out a broken whimper as his fingers force the slug further into her flesh. The pain is excruciating, and her head lolls forward. With a grunt, she shoves his gory hand away and meets his gaze.

“The townhouse... beside the garage...” she gasps.

He ignores her. “You hear that?” he yells to his flunkies. “Get your asses in gear! And don't shoot the Angels, or I will personally rip your testicles off!”

“Boss, aren't you coming?” The men sound baffled. Levi turning down an opportunity to take part in bloodshed? Unthinkable.

“I'd love to,” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “but unfortunately this woman is dying, and for some reason I feel obligated to help her. Go!” They hop into the cars and, wheels screeching, speed away. Only one vehicle is left, engine still humming.

Levi hooks his arm under her shoulders; without protest, Mikasa lets him hoist her up and bundle her into the car. He hops into the seat and sets off, driving haphazardly; he runs three red lights and almost commits geronticide. He swerves to a stop in front of what she thinks is a veterinary clinic and hauls her out.

“Petra!” he shouts, hammering on the door, “Petra, let us in!”

The door swings open to reveal a delicate ginger woman. She gasps, and quickly takes Mikasa from Levi's grasp.

“You have to remove it. It's a Titan bullet.” Levi follows them as Petra lays Mikasa on the table, hand pressed to the hole in her shoulder.

“Poisoned bullets... Disgusting.” Her sentence is punctuated by the snap of the latex gloves on her hands.

Suddenly, Petra looms over Mikasa. “Have you ever had a reaction to anaesthetic?”

Mikasa shakes her head, and Petra gives her a small smile. “Good. I'll have to put you under. Is that okay?” Mikasa nods again weakly.

The last things she feels is the slide of the needle into her arm.

 

When she wakes up, she is hooked up to some machine that beeps periodically. There's a tube leading out of her arm, filled with red liquid. Blood? She follows the path of the tube until-

Until it enters Levi's arm.

He's sitting up, watching her closely. He smirks when she shocks backwards, but it drops off his face when she lets out a wince; jostling the IV sends a twinge of pain through her arm.

“Sit still. It will end soon.”

“Why...?” Talking is hard; her mouth is dry, and she feels more than slightly nauseous.

“You were shot. You remember that much.” She nods in assent. “Well, obviously you lost a lot of blood. Seeing as Petra had no blood stocks, and I am, luckily, O negative...”

She takes a few seconds to respond, thoughts forming sluggishly in her mind. “I owe you my life.”

“Why do you think I did this?” The smirk is back, igniting her anger, but she is too tired to let it take over like she normally would. Instead, she turns it towards herself. She let her heart overtake her head, and as a result she owes a blood debt to the most infamous gangster in the city; no, in the entire country.

“I need to get back to Eren,” she says finally.

“Petra will take you. I have other business.” Right on cue, Petra enters the room.

“All done,” she informs Mikasa, disconnecting them. She hands her a bag of medicine, various pills and tablets made for popping. “Instructions are inside. Don't OD. And take it easy; gunshot wounds are no small thing, and the blood loss doesn't help. Shall we?” She ushers Mikasa out the door, but not before she sees Levi unzip his rifle and begin to load it.

 

When she enters the base, there is mass uproar; Armin breaks out in tears, and Jean has to leave the room. Eren, hugging her tight enough to break her, explains that they had thought her dead. Erwin manages to drag her away into the relative calm of what they call his office. He begins by insisting that Hanji check her up, even though she is more physicist than physician. When Hanji proclaims the wound clean and likely to heal, Erwin's composure breaks for a split second; just as quickly, he snaps back to indifference.

“How did you survive?” Hanji queries as Mikasa tugs her shirt back into place.

When Mikasa fails to answer, Erwin adds “Tell the truth.”

You don't keep anything from the godfather.

She tells him the whole thing, and it comes out sounding much more fantastical than it originally seemed.

“Levi?” Erwin asks incredulously. “Saving someone’s life?”

“I believe he sees me as an equal, boss. He enjoys having leverage over me.” The bitter words burn her throat.

“Levi has always been domineering,” Erwin mutters. “Those guards were his, correct?”

“He made me tell him the address.” Mikasa bows her head. This is where her life ends, if not by death, then some other equally gruesome way. Erwin is not merciful.

“You did what you had to do. We're alive, but...” He sighs, and pinches the bridge his nose. “Stay on guard, stay alert, and armed at all times, even in the bedroom or bathroom. Understand?”

“Yes, boss.” She's - she's alive?

“Dismissed.”

Mikasa scarpers.

She doesn't join the others in the lounge downstairs, but instead retreats to her room. She strips to examine the ugly hole in her shoulder in the moonlight.

She would be dead if not for the man whose blood runs in her veins.

 

(When she falls asleep, she dreams in bright, bright red.)


	4. saints and sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 4: Seven Deadly Sins.  
> No one is ever innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, RivaMika  
> Notes: Apologies for my tardiness, but it was due to circumstances entirely beyond my control (i.e. a pseudo-hurricane!) In any case, I'm here! …With more character death. Try listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki9h7CWipbo).

_**acedia** _

The hall is noisy and bustling with activity; putting several teenagers into a small space unsupervised will have that effect, no matter how battle-hardened said teenagers are. Technically they are being supervised, but nowadays, Levi isn't much good for anything, not even cleaning.

She knows it worries Hanji and the Commander; it even worries his subordinates, including herself, to some extent. Ever since the 57th Expedition, Levi has been nothing but a shadow of his former self. At first it was almost unnoticeable; through the trip to the capital and the battle with the Female Titan, he'd been his usual belligerent self. Ever since...

Levi was never talkative to begin with, but he began to speak less, not even bothering to give out to Hanji. He doesn't train the recruits with as much energy as he did before; Mikasa even beat him a few times while sparring. His old self would have taken offence to that, but all she got was a half-hearted congratulations and a day off. Recently his obsession with hygiene has subsided; Mikasa even spotted dust on his desk the other day.

Yet the worst part is his eyes. When Mikasa saw Captain Levi, the first thing that caught her attention was not his diminutive height, but how bright his eyes were. They glowed with fire, the burning desire to live and to fight and to survive...

But now Levi's eyes are as dark and gloomy as a starless night. The fire has been quenched and its embers swept way, leaving only charred wood and smoke. Hanji has confronted him, she knows, but their efforts were in vain; all Levi did was stare at them dead-eyed. They took their worries to Erwin, but neither could the Commander shake Levi out of his torpor.

Levi soon retires to his quarters, not even bothering to bid him goodnight. Mikasa doubts he'll sleep; more likely he will stay awake, fiddling with a bloodstained pair of wings.

 

The attack was sudden and unexpected, and as such they were not prepared. With only three miles to go the Titans had come, wreaking havoc on the rear guard. The expedition was going incredibly well up until that; they will return with only two thirds of their force, and less than half their horses. Mikasa's own horse is, however, still alive. With a steaming Eren slung over her saddle she gallops at a break-neck pace, blood splashing up where her mount's hooves land. 

She scans the visceral landscape around her, hoping against hope to find a survivor among the many broken bodies, Titan and soldier alike. The sun is setting, painting the plains with soft red and luminous orange, giving the carnage a dreamlike quality.

Among the worst of the wreckage she spots a flicker of movement; she tries to get closer, but her horse shies away. She can't dismount; Eren's position is precarious, and she can't risk him falling and hurting himself. She looks closer and sees-

Levi. He is trapped beneath a decaying Titan leg, but he doesn’t seem to care. The Levi of old would struggle and roar at her to get him out of this mess, but her captain now seems to accept his fate.

She moves to get her flare gun so she can signal, but Levi shakes his head, and nods when her hand drops. Something is passing between them, a strange understanding; Levi wants to die, and for once Mikasa will not defy him. Even she will not deny a dying man his final wish.

When she nods silently he smiles in reply, brief and mild. His eyes have regained some of their previous glow, and as she rides on he closes them, slipping into eternal sleep.

 

When Hanji asks her later _(did you see Levi?)_ Mikasa tells her no. _(I didn't see him... I’m sorry.)_

She wakes up that night from her restless sleep to find tears on her cheeks and guilt in her belly.

 

_**avaritia** _

Dawn is upon them; pale golden light filters through Levi's bone-white curtains to fall upon the bed's rumpled sheets, damning evidence of the previous night's activities. He watches Mikasa as she awakes, eyes blinking upon and squeezing shut against the light. You would not think her to be an adult trained soldier; in this state, she resembles nothing more than a drooling child, what with the stain on his pillow and the tangled nest of her hair. He flicks her shoulder to shock her awake.

“Levi...” she mumbles, slapping his shoulder lightly.

“What?” He sits up, indignant.

“Do we really gotta get up?” The words are slurred, and her grammar is degraded by drowsiness.

“I do. You don't.” He rubs his face in an attempt to rid it of the sleep that has formed around his eyes, cursing whoever thought it a good idea to hold a meeting in a town three hours' ride away at nine o'clock.

“No, you don't.” Her words, though unclear, are firm.

“Yes, I do.” He begins to get up, dreading the moment when his bare feet hit the cold stone floor-

But it never comes. He is yanked back forcefully, rolling over sheets and blankets to land flat on his back on the bed, Mikasa pinning him down. Her hands hold his wrists with so much strength he fears they'll bruise. He wriggles, trying to get out from under her; this is in no way cute, he needs to leave in ten minutes...

She distracts him the best way she knows how, lowering her lips to his neck and beginning to kiss down his jugular, close to the beat of his pulse. The sheets have fallen from her body, leaving her bare; the junctions of their skin feel electric.

“Mikasa, no...” His protests are less than emphatic, and they die altogether when she rolls her hips into his with vehemence.

“You wouldn't leave me to take care of myself, would you?” Her words are low with the promise of peril. “Stay.” He acquiesces, closing his eyes as her fingers trail down his body.

But they stop, her hands jumping away from him as the door slams open, setting alarm bells off in his brain. He turns his head to see none other than Erwin in the door, eyes wide with shock.

The rules and regulations run through his mind _(fraternization within the Survey Corps is strictly prohibited)_ and all he can say is “Shit!”

Mikasa hops off the bed, gathering her sheets around her and fleeing, brushing past a motionless Erwin. Levi stands up to face him, to accept the condemnation that is sure to come, judging by the Commander's face, and ignores the guilt weighing upon his shoulders.

 

 

_**gula** _

The attack is almost over. According to Armin's calculations, a wave of four-meters were supposed to reach north-eastern Wall Rose. Instead of sending a full expedition, Erwin decided to send his two best soldiers to head off the group and take them out.

It had gone even better than expected. When the Titans entered a forest, Mikasa and Levi attacked them and made short work of them. Out of fifteen, Mikasa counts eleven kills. Levi really didn't pull his weight.

Once she's done she drops down to the forest floor to land in a Titan lung. She grimaces and wipes the gore off herself. They need to leave now, before the dead Titans attract live ones. Where the hell is the captain?

Her question is answered by a faint moan of pain. She follows it to its source, only to find Levi crumpled beneath a tree, shattered blades discarded on the ground beside him. A Titan lies not three meters from him, its body mutilated and scored; obviously, Levi had some trouble dispatching that one.

“What the...?” She approaches him, noting the red splashed down the side of his face, the way he is cradling his arm to his chest.

“So now you turn up?” His words are bitter, spat out with venom.

“What do you mean, now? I killed almost all of these things for you!” The slight angers her.

“Well, you did a great job protecting me, didn't you? I was _screaming for fucking help_ , Ackerman, except you were too busy 'killing all the Titans!', so you could go back and tell everyone that you pulled all the weight so you can get all the glory.” He pauses to throw her a filthy look. “Don't even try to tell me that wasn't it. I know. I've been there.”

She stares at him, speechless, realising that he is right yet refusing to admit it. The stand-off goes on for five minutes until Levi swears.

“Look, just get me onto my horse so we can get back and I can get fixed up and clean all this shit off me.” When she remains immobile, he barks “That was an order, Ackerman!”

She complies, helping him to his feet and onto his horse, and spends the ride back watching the sky burn as the guilt presses down on her lungs until she can barely breathe.

 

_**invidia** _

“Are you sure it isn't love?” Hanji peers over their glasses, grinning like some stupid monkey.

“God, no. Who do you take me for? Kirschtein?” He swears, and Hanji begins to laugh outright. “Why I am I even telling you?”

“Because I'm the doctor!” They push their glasses up in a way that is probably intended to make them look intelligent. “Well, Captain, it sounds a lot like love to me. You feel sick around her?”

“Yes,” Levi confirms, “unfortunately. She keeps beating me in sparring sessions.”

“And you want to be around her?” Hanji continues.

Levi nods, taking another swig of ale. “God knows why. I'm just a glutton for punishment.”

“But... you don't love her?” Hanji grabs the glass of him and takes a gulp.

“No... I don't even like her. I don't want to touch her, I don't want to see her smile, I... I want her to fail.” The glass clatters against the polished wood as Hanji lowers it.

“You're jealous,” they say quietly.

“Jealous? Me? Have you lost your mind? I'm stronger than her!” He stares at them, mouth ajar.

“Now, you are...but who knows what the future holds? She has all her friends, all these people who love her. She's young, strong and beautiful. You want what she has. What you've lost.” Hanji's words are low, strange as opposed to their usual loud tone, and their eyes glitter with something he's never seen before.

Condemnation.

He drains the glass and thumps it onto the table with such force that it fractures, a crack splitting it up the middle. Moments later it shatters, shredding his hand and splashing red all over him.

“Beware of jealousy,” Hanji sighs, taking his hand to examine it. “It is the green-eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds on. Namely, you.”

He snorts derisively, yanking his hand out of their grip. “Get a grip. Me? Jealous? Not in a thousand years.” With that he exits, leaving Hanji to pick up the pieces and clean up the blood.

 

The next time he sees Ackerman, he has a sudden, brief image of wrapping his hands around her smooth white throat and strangling the life out of her; no sooner is it gone than the guilt begins to set in.

“What's wrong, captain?” she questions him, head tipped to the side. She's so vital, so young. It sickens him.

“Nothing,” he mutters feebly. “Get back to work.”

 

_**ira** _

She can't hear anything.

Armin's skinny fingers are curled around her biceps, his voice whispering logic - _no, stop, Mikasa, it won't be worth it!-_ but she cannot hear his words, only the forceful buzzing of her rage in her ears and the _thwack_ of heavy boots against pale skin and the _snap_ of bones breaking.

“How dare he?” she mutters, nails digging into her palm as she watches this short bastard brutalise Eren. “My brother... how dare he?”

“Mikasa, no!” Armin grabs her by the waist and yanks her back; he is weak, always has been, but all animals gain strength when they are desperate. “If you go up there they'll think Eren's a...a...”

“A Titan?” she snarls, shrugging free of his grip. “Armin, I don't care if he's the Colossal Titan. That short bastard is not allowed to lay a single finger on my brother!”

And with that she swings herself over the barrier to land on the cold granite floor; the shock of impact sends spears of pain up through her calves, but she disregards it to run towards him. The court has erupted into roars and screams, yet the man beating her brother seems impervious, continuing with his gruesome task.

But no longer; Mikasa lunges at him and they crash into the stone floor powerfully, his head cracking against the ground. She pins him, wrapping one hand tightly around his throat and using the other to punch his face into pulp.

The violence feels _good_. Mikasa has spent so long confining her anger, cooling it and using it as a weapon to slash Titans' necks open. Doing this, doing what her blood impulse tells her ( _smash, tear, choke, break_ ) feels cathartic, even as her brothers scream her name and implore her to stop. She can't. She _won't_.

The release is short-lived; it takes three men combined to pull her off the midget, and five altogether to restrain her after. They pull his unconscious body away, leaving a trail of blood along the grey stone. She hopes it stays.

Her brother screams her name as they drag her away down to confinement. She doesn't reply.

Later, when the lamps have been quenched, leaving her in total darkness, she receives a visitor. He brings no lamp, so she cannot see his face; instead, she judges both gender and identity from his grunts of pain. The short man from the Survey Corps. He halts in front of her cell, dragging his fingers along the bars.

“Well?” he wonders out loud. “Was it worth it?”

She doesn’t reply. The rage has burned her out, leaving nothing behind but cinders and guilt.

“I'll answer it; no. You just signed your brother's death warrant. They've ruled that he's a danger to humanity and he'll be shot in the head at the crack of dawn because they're too scared. He isn't even doing anything; all he asked was if you were okay. I couldn't answer.” He sighs, fingers tapping against the ground. “You're not going to get put of this cell any time soon, and any promise of a career you had in the military is dead as your brother. You're pretty, so they won't kill you; most likely you'll be sold as a servant to some noble house.” He snorts. “It would have been better if you were ugly; they would have killed you outright and been done with it. Pretty servants become homely mothers.” She hears his knees crack as he stands up. “As for me, you've ruined any possible chance the Surveys Corps could have gotten. You also broke my nose and made me come down here to this filthy place. Was it worth it?”

“I already know.”

“What?” He sounds nonplussed, and she cracks an invisible smile.

“I knew what I was doing. I knew the consequences. I still did it.”

A small silence follows, broken by a laugh. “I almost regretted your loss, Ackerman. From what Instructor Shadis told me, you were quite promising... but I do not tolerate insubordination.”

He begins to walk away, steps uneven. “Goodbye, Ackerman. It was not my pleasure to meet you.”

The next morning, when she hears the gunshot, she tells herself; “I don't regret it.”

When she hears that unmistakable roar a few seconds later, she says it again.

 

_**luxuria** _

Why is he looking at her?

Let it never be said that Levi is inexperienced. His misguided youth led to many incidents, enjoyable or otherwise. He thought that phase of his life was well behind him and was not sorry to see the back of it, but...

Back when she was fifteen, Ackerman was an irritation, solely for her impulsiveness and impudence. At eighteen she is a full-blown nuisance... and not for the reasons he'd like.

Logically, he wonders why it wasn't someone else. Historia is every man's dream, innocent and nubile, and Sasha's cheerful smile and full form would enthral any man. Mikasa, however, is solemn and flat-chested and almost more muscular than he is. Deep down, he knows why; Mikasa is strong.

Not to say that the others aren't, but Mikasa is full of anger and power and skill; the very strength of her is intoxicating, and half his desire is due to that. The smell of her sweat does not disgust him as it should, and he is in no way averse to brawling with her in the dirt, no matter how filthy he may get.

(and one night, after debriefing Eren, he pauses outside her door (he doesn't think too hard about why, doesn't want to find what lies there) and he hears her gasping. At first he thinks it is in pain (had he hurt her earlier while they were sparring?), yet the longer he listens the more obvious it becomes, and his blood rushes to one place. He doesn't leave, instead staying crouched at the door like the dirty old man he is as her breathing accelerates, as her pants becomes more guttural and her moans more... animal until he hears her shriek-

Hears her shriek his own name.

So he takes a peek inside the door and sees her spread-eagled on the bed, eyes unfocused, shirt unbuttoned, boxers pushed aside, with one hand muffling her mouth and the other at her centre, as she whimpers _“Levi, Levi, L-Levi!”_

God, he almost loses it right there.

But he manages to keep it together until he reaches his quarters and cleans up after (he has to keep some semblance of dignity) and when he falls asleep he dreams of guilt.)

 

_**superbia** _

The courtroom is far smaller than she remembered; with its marble pit and raised pews, it feels like an arena. It may as well be.

She stands beside Levi, who is in difficulty; his leg finally gave way in the final battle. The court did not feel the need to provide him with a chair, and as such he is shaking slightly. He does not lean on Mikasa; he is entirely too prideful for that.

Before them the judge reels off a list of their crimes. There is no defence attorney to explain away their crimes, and the prosecutor barely speaks; he knows his job is already done. They are the last ones left, and as such they must carry the blame. This trial is nothing more than a formality.

The judge speaks of genocide. The Titans were human at their core, and what they did in the line of duty was not self-defence; it was mass murder. Mikasa and Levi, as humanity's strongest, were most guilty.

The judge begins to raise his gavel and asks for objections; none are offered. He pronounces his sentence: “Private Mikasa Ackerman and Captain Levi are found guilty, and hereby sentenced to death by firing squad at dawn.” He slams the gavel down with finality, and the bailiffs come to take them away.

 

Her final hours pass quickly; she spends them in recollections both pleasant and unpleasant. She hears nothing from Levi's adjacent cell until dark, when she witnesses her final sunset.

“Private?” His voice is as assured as ever.

“You can drop the formalities, sir. We are about to die.”

He laughs harshly, but it ends in a wheeze of pain. They did not treat his leg properly, and it pains him more with every day that passes. “You were always optimistic.”

“No, sir. What I was was a realist.”

His silence answers any queries she may have had, but apparently not all of his have been settled. “Ackerman... do you have any regrets?”

She thinks for a short while, counting the stars that gradually appear in the sky. “Very few, sir, and none that I could have laid to rest personally. I am proud of the life I have led.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Are you unhappy, sir?”

He does not answer her question, but moves onto something else entirely. “This isn't the first time I've faced the business end of a rifle, you know.”

“Sir?”

“It was back... oh, I don't know. I was around your age. They caught me stealing from some merchant, and he managed to spin the story so that I killed one of his guards. I was sentenced to death.”

“How did you escape?”

“Don't bother with hope, Ackerman. As luck would have it, I had a friend in the firing squad; he missed, shot his superior in the foot and I fled. I joined Erwin shortly after.”

“Would you happen to have any friends left here?” She can't help the small flicker of hope in her voice.

“I'm sorry, Ackerman.” His voice is almost gentle. “All I have left is you.”

 

Dawn seems to be late in its arrival; when the guards come, Mikasa has been ready for twenty minutes. They handcuff her and lead her out, Levi soon joining them; he does not acknowledge her.

When they reach the yard Levi is too weak to even walk to the blood-stained end of the yard; he collapses in the dirt beside the door. They drag a chair in and bind him to it, tying the knots twice just in case, even though Levi is having trouble lifting his head.

They escort her to the opposite end of the yard and tie her to the pole there, pinning a white target to her breast. The soldiers line up in the centre of the yard, spinning and snapping in rigid formation, shiny boots marred by dust.

“Captain Levi! Have you any last words?” It is the man in charge who utters this, judging by his heavily embellished epaulettes.

Levi looks up, and meets her eyes. “I am proud of the life I have led.”

The man's scowl is easily visible, and everyone hears him mutter _bastard_ underneath his breath. “Very well. Soldiers!”

The men swivel to attention, rifles ready. The captain marches in front of them, tapping one fair man on the shoulder; when the soldier asks a question, the captain jerks his head towards Levi. He recoils in shock, but steps forward when the captain yells at him.

He takes his time readying his rifle; each second passes like a year. Finally he raises the gun, aims, and-

Mikasa shuts her eyes.

When she reopens them Levi has slumped sickeningly sideways, kept up only by the ropes that bind him to the chair, the white target on his chest soiled with red. Her knees begin to shake. The young soldier is on his knees, vomiting; his fellows avert their eyes. The captain calls them to attention as the young soldier is escorted away by two friends, and the line of shiny soldiers turns to face her.

“Last words.” The captain is prompt. Mikasa tries to think; she has so much, yet so little to say. Finally, she settles on one thing.

“The world is cruel and unforgiving, yet so beautiful.”

The captain nods in satisfaction; he was expecting more insubordination. He selects another soldier, who steps forward haltingly and readies his rifle with hesitant hands, dropping bullets into the dust. Finally, he is ready; he aims, and Mikasa notices tears in his eyes. His finger pulls, and she closes her eyes, there is a bang-

She opens her eyes to find that she is not dead. She looks up; the soldier has dropped his rifle, and when she looks to her right she notices a smoking hole in the ground. The captain yells at the soldier until the poor man bursts into tears; muttering ominously, the captain picks up the rifle, and aims so quickly Mikasa does not have enough time to shut her eyes. She hears a bang, sees a bullet and feels-

Nothing.

She sees nothing.

_She has no regrets._


	5. Le Quattro Stagioni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 5: Four Seasons  
> The wheel of time will never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, Eren Jaeger, Armin Arlert, RivaMika  
> Notes: This is what happens when I try to write after a Shakespeare play. (Coriolanus, in case you're wondering. Try to spot the reference!) W.B. Yeats may have also played a part, as did Vivaldi (duh!), so you might want to try listening to him. This fic includes a major character death... You have been warned. :)

_**la primavera** _

When he first meets her, the first thing that strikes him is how desperately young she is.

Even though she stands tall, shoulders square and legs planted sturdily apart, her youth sticks in his mind. She's fifteen, with everything to lose and nothing to gain by becoming a soldier, but she did it anyway. The delirium of the brave, he supposes, even though he was no such fool at her age. He kept his head down and did what he had to do, none of the heroism or grand feats that are stamped all over Mikasa's queenly movements.

But with youth comes folly; none know this better than Levi himself. He watches her throw herself into danger, time and time and time again, for the cause of her brother, her brother Eren with eyes as green as spring leaves. Although she is not the only one guilty of that vice (even cool, calculated Armin behaves recklessly sometimes), it is her acts that are most egregious.

Perhaps it is because she acts so mature? An old soul, is what Hanji calls her. “Those eyes have seen much harm,” they tell him, as they watch the recruits sweep up the cherry blossom petals clogging the drains “and have been blackened by it.” They pick a stray petal out of their hair, grumbling. In the far distance, Levi hears a dog bark.

In any case, Levi disregards them.

Perhaps he shouldn't have.

 

_**l'estate** _

Levi hates summer.

The languor caused by the heat is almost intolerable. It is that slow, lazy type of warmth that encumbers all your movements; neither are there any sharp breezes to cut through the haze that smothers them.

He's situated on the deck, watching his team brawl. How have they survived, all these long years? It has only been half a decade, yet it feels like it has been two since Eren first Shifted.

Ackerman emerges from the brawl and pads over to sit down beside him. The silence between them is neither companionable or uncomfortable.

She is a full head taller than him now, and strong of limb and body. It is difficult, however, to think of her as anything but a child, even though she has every appearance of being a woman, albeit a somewhat flat-chested one. As if that matters; any fool with eyes in his head can see that Mikasa is beautiful. Few, however, see beyond that.

“Sir.” She glances at him, gaze drifting away from the current combatants.

“What is it?”

“Are you...?” Her eyes flicker down to his ankle

He struggles momentarily to find his words; he has many noble thoughts, but rarely can he articulate them. This time is not an exception. “I am in perfectly good health. Thank you for your concern.” It goes without saying that her concern is unneeded.

“I wasn't...!” She pauses, words tangled in her throat as her face reddens. Another thing about youth; it angers easily. “... Sir, you are my captain. I will always have...concern. For you.”

Somehow, this renders him mute. He wonders if he should thank her again.

He doesn't. “As long as you keep some consideration for yourself, Ackerman.”

She doesn't say another word; as she turns her head, the sun catches her, and Levi finds himself blinded.

 

_**l'autunno** _

Their headquarters in Sina are elegant, built with red brick and fenced in with black iron railings. The door is obnoxiously red, with a half-moon window above and steps below. At the very least, it is warm.

He and Erwin were dragged up to Sina without fanfare. They were at a critical stage down on the fronts of Wall Maria, having just won a huge victory over the Titans, but the head office would not hear of it, and off they went in a musty carriage to face the music. 

Except not quite.

Officially the Crown 'does not approve' of Erwin's methods, but none can deny that he gets results. In order to keep up appearances, Erwin is yelled at by some commissioner or another every year; without fail, Erwin faces them down. He'd make a superb politician, if only he would not speak his own mind, something that Levi personally believes his commander is incapable of. His heart's his mouth, indeed.

They have been consigned to paperwork for the foreseeable future. As much as he complains about it when he's stuck in the squalor of the soldiers' tents, Levi is itching to get back down to Maria and fight. He never was a good penman.

In order to distract himself, he glances out the window. One of the redeeming traits of this hole of bureaucracy is that it has a river view. The swans are his main source of amusement; Levi has never had any great love for the natural world, but few can deny the grace of the swans. He has counted them daily and he invariably comes to the same tally of forty nine. Logically there must be one odd one out, and indeed there is; behind the bevy of paired swans, he can make out a lone bird trailing after his companions.

He draws his gaze away from the window and tries to work. The dim autumnal light is making it hard to read the letters, and his slowly fading vision isn't helping. Hanji is trying to get him to wear glasses, but Levi won't. It would be like admitting weakness, and that is not something that will happen while his body still draws breath.

The door creaks open. “Speak of the devil, and the devil shall come,” he mutters to himself, as Squad Leader Mikasa Ackerman slips inside.

“Sir.” She snaps to attention.

“At ease. Did you ride all this way? For that matter, why on Earth are you here?” He examines her critically. Mikasa's hair has only gotten shorter with age; Armin's is longer than hers at this stage. Levi will not admit that it becomes her.

“Yes, but sir... I believe that would be a matter best discussed privately.” The words are fragmented; she is breathing heavily. Did she really ride all the way here?

Grumbling, Levi acquiesces.

There is a tiny park nearby, and it is to a bench in this park that he leads her, through brittle leaves and dry dust and sleeping drunkards sprawled in the shade of oaks and larches. Mikasa collapses into the bench, and Levi seats himself primly beside her.

“What is it, Ackerman?” He can't summon the energy to be sharp with her, not any more.

“Can you and the Commander leave immediately?” Her fingers are restless, tangling together and breaking apart.

“Within an hour. Spit it out, will you?”

“Annie has woken up.”

The swans scatter, their great wings clamorous as they climb into the air. Only one remains; it seems like he looks at Levi for a moment before he mounts into the air to join his brethren's broken spirals.

Levi springs up, grabs her by the hand, and drags her away, to find Erwin and to rectify a twenty-year-old problem.

 

_**l'inverno** _

To him, the tranquillity is strange.

It weighs on him like a great stone, conspicuous in its complete wrongness. It is anathema, to him, to think that there are no more titans. There are no battles to be fought, no bodies to bury except those in his dreams. He is useless now, a broken-down old soldier with no place in peacetime.

The consuls speak of concord and tearing down the walls, but Levi has proposed another idea. Let the walls remain, as monument to those who fell, and let their names be inscribed into the stone. He has begun the job; in the ruins of Shiganshina, he has written the names of Isabel and Farlan, of his Commander and his friend, of his first Squad and most of his second.

He must delay his reminiscing for now. He has a task to perform. Once he has donned his coat and scarf, he picks up his cane and sets off.

The journey takes him twice as long as it would have thirty years ago. The snow doesn't help matters; he slips and slides and almost loses his precarious balance. The little cottages he passes are blazing with light, trees decorated with seashells visible through their windows. It is unusually cold this winter; generally out by the sea the snow doesn't stick, but this year is a notable exception.

When he finally reaches the little hill out by the coastline, the breeze is biting, freezing him to the bone. The view of the sea from here is as breath-taking as usual; he remembers the tears in Armin's eyes when they first got here. He was in excruciating pain for the entire journey, yet it was the ocean that finally broke the dam.

Finally, he struggles up the hill to reach its peak. There is a small slab of stone, taken from Wall Maria, and on it are three names, six dates, and one single line of text.

_Eren Jaeger, b. March 30 835, d. January 28 875_

_Armin Arlert, b. November 3 835, d. January 28 875_

_Mikasa Ackerman, b. February 10 835, d. January 28 875_

_The world is cruel and unforgiving, yet so beautiful._

He kneels in front of the gravestone, legs creaking, and brushes the snow away from the letters. Mikasa's last request had been to bury her with her brothers, and that he did; her in the centre, and a brother under each arm, like the way they used to huddle up in the cold streets of hard cities, with her scarf knotting them together.

He wonders every day what would have happened, had they survived instead of him. Would Armin rise to leadership of the country? Would Eren marry Mikasa? Would Mikasa cry over his grave, as he does over hers?

She wouldn't. She was always stronger than him.

After a while, his tears begin to freeze on his face. With one final glance at sea and sand and stone, he turns away to begin the long journey home.


	6. doped up on dopamine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 6: Valentine's Day.  
> In which, despite her best intentions, Mikasa's life becomes a romantic comedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, Sasha Braus, Eren Jaeger, RivaMika  
> Notes: HI I'M LATE AGAIN. Stupid internet is stupid. Eren and Petra sort of became scapegoats. Sorry?

Honestly, Mikasa thinks no-one can blame her for dreading tomorrow. She's huddled up on the couch swaddled in a duvet, half-watching some stupid rom-com on the TV. The other half of her attention is focused on her phone, which refuses to light up.

Except it does.

Her heart soars, baby cherubs start to sing in her head-until she notices that it's Sasha.

_Mikamika! You okay for tomorrow? xxx_

Mikasa sighs to herself and picks up her phone to reply.

_I'll be okay. Just worry about yourself and Connie._

After a few seconds, her phone bleeps again.

_If you're sure! Ugh, I could KILL Eren. Boys are so stupid. >:( xxx_

Mikasa nods at her phone like a fool.

_Preach it, sister. I'm off to bed – Erwin's got me in early tomorrow._

Sasha replies promptly.

_Good luck! :* xxx_

Mikasa turns off the TV, throws the remote on the floor and pads off to bed.

Instead of going to sleep right away, which would be the sensible thing to do, she stays up reminiscing.

About Eren.

She didn't really blame him for breaking up with her. They'd only really gotten together because it made sense, back in their last year of school. Neither had they been particularly physical; to tell the crude truth, Eren was a terrible kisser. Yet she put up with it, because she loved him... except not in the way she thought she did.

Her main beef was that he had broken up with her on her birthday.

By text.

Four days before Valentine's Day.

To add insult to injury, the following day he jetted off to South America for an archaeological field placement, and it was unlikely that he'd be back until winter. Eren had never been the brightest Crayola in the box, but Mikasa, who always thought the best of him, would never have thought that he was capable of doing something so colossally insensitive.

Yet as she sat there in that restaurant, gazing at her phone ( _I want to break up_ ), she didn't feel any pain. She didn't start hyperventilating, nor did she cry. She just felt... resigned. Empty.

She responded with a simple _Okay_ , she turned off her phone, and she ran home.

She should stop dwelling on the past; she has to get up early. She turns over, and, later rather than sooner, falls asleep.

 

She manages to get into work on-time. Mikasa is very much an early riser, and believes in getting up with the sun, but getting up _before_ the sun? Nope.

But Erwin is reliable and she needs this job to save up enough money to pay her (exorbitant) college fees, so she hauls her ass out of the bed, manages to navigate the city's overcomplicated metro system without problem, and has her apron tied and her hands gloved as Hanji flips the sign (Our petals are _open!)_ and the flood begins.

Well, to begin with, it's more of a trickle. Apparently, lovers never run before the clock. Soon, however, Saint Valentine’s frenzy takes hold and _Avant Gardens_ is swamped. Instead of paying attention to the clock (which is impossible when a client is demanding _Japanese_ bigleaf magnolias, as opposed to plain old bigleaf magnolias), she counts in the number of pairs of gloves discarded. By the time Erwin gives her a break, there are thirty-two gloves altogether piled beside the cutting counter. Privately, she decides that whoever designated roses as the ultimate flower of love needed a nice, long roast in hell. Camellias didn't have thorns, did they? Why couldn't it have been them instead?

She glances out into the shop, peering over the brim of the chai latte Hanji kindly bought for her. While still mobbed, the crowd has begin to thin out slightly; one man in particular catches her eye. He's short and immaculate, wearing a suit and cravat. Who even wears cravats nowadays? The expensive mobile phone in his hand is threatening to fall; from what she can make out of the screen, he's still on a call. His attention is completely absorbed by a dozen roses in front of him and on the tag hanging off them. She thinks she saw them earlier, and if she recalls correctly, they're for someone called Petra. Really, she only noticed it because there was another bouquet addressed to the very same Petra, going by the address; said bouquet was picked up earlier by some guy with the worst undercut she had ever seen. Oluo, was it? No matter. Mikasa has better things to worry about than that possible love triangle.

One of those problems is making its way towards her. A green-eyed problem, with messy brown hair and the most contrite expression she's ever seen.

“Eren,” she breathes, standing up.

He pushes past the cravat guy to get behind the counter; Hanji tries to stop him, but he ignores them too to finally burst into the break room.

“You.” She almost drops her drink.

“Me,” Eren agrees.

Nothing about the silence that falls between them could be called amiable, but then again, it can barely be described as a silence. Eren is breathing heavily, and her blood is pumping so hard she's certain everyone can hear the raucous lub-dub of her heart. The cravat guy has transferred his attention from the bouquet to herself and Eren.

“Mikasa, I-” Eren sighs, ruffling his hair. “I want to apologize. I... want us to get back together. I admit I made a mistake. You're very important to me, and-”

“...Just like that?” Mikasa interrupts. For once, she is awestruck.

“What?” Eren is baffled, his eyebrows knotting together in that expression she used to find so cute. Now, it aggravates her. “Is something wro-”

“You break up with me on my birthday by text, and freetext, no less! You swan off to Peru -what happened to that, by the way?- you don't call me for three days, and then burst into my workplace on Valentine's Day and demand to get back together, saying you've 'made a mistake'.” She uses air quotes for that last bit. “Oh, you made a mistake, Eren... but this time I am not correcting it for you!” The outburst of rage feels good, and the sound of her elevated heartbeat is music to her ears.

“Mikasa... I love you.” Eren's weak declaration does nothing to soften her anger.

“I love you too, Eren...” He perks up. “As a brother.” Aaand he sags. Hanji gives her a thumbs-up from behind the door. “Look... I've been thinking a lot these past few days, and...” She breathes in. Once she says this she can't go back... but she doesn’t think she'll regret it. “I think we are better off apart. I'm not saying I regret our relationship, but it's over. I want to move on, and you should too.”

Eren stares at her in a wide-mouthed daze. She steps forward and embraces him momentarily, committing the feel to memory.

“I should go,” Eren finally mumbles. “I'll call you later.”

“No,” she replies, ushering him to the door. “I'll call you.”

And as the door slams shut, she feels a strange release, like a belt unclasping from around her waist. Eren is now a closed chapter in her life. She doesn't know the title of the next one, but she's more than happy to wait.

 

Ironically enough, the wait turns out to be a brief one. Erwin closes up shop at seven, shoving a wedge of bills into her pocket. She declines Hanji's offer of a ride home, mostly because she wants to walk to help clear her head, but also because they drive like a lunatic on a full moon.

After they speed off in a puff of smelly smoke, Mikasa heads for the metro stop, but she hasn't reached the corner of the block when someone steps into her way.

She automatically slides into a ready stance, in reflex from her years as a judoka, but her would-be assailant raises his hands in a gesture of peace. She would probably still have lunged, but his next action shocks her into immobility.

He extends a dozen roses.

She accepts them out of sheer confusion, and as she examines them thoroughly he steps into the light. The cravat is a dead give-away.

“You?” she manages.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” he replies dourly, hands jammed into his pockets.

“Are you... alright?” She gives him a once-over. He doesn't look like a serial killer...

“That's a question I'd like to know the answer to.” He sighs and takes a small step towards her. “Look, I have a reservation at the best restaurant in the city, and hell if I'm going to waste it. Let's have dinner together.”

“Petra?” She doesn't mean to say it out loud, but he doesn't react all that noticeably.

“Yes, Petra. From what I saw earlier, you have no prior engagements...” He tips his head to the side.

“I don't know anything about you.” Some crazy part of her is actually considering this.

“I'm alone on Valentine's Day, and so are you. I think that’s enough.” He grins sharply.

Screw it. She doesn't feel like cooking tonight anyway. “If I'm going to have dinner with you, it might be beneficial to know your name. I'm Mikasa.”

“Levi. Lovely to meet you, Mikasa. Shall we?” He offers her his arm, and in a fit of madness, she takes it.

“Drinks had better be included.” Levi smells of smoke and ink, a world away from Eren's woody scent.

“Oh, they most certainly are.” A car honks at them (was that Erwin?), and Mikasa waves. Levi laughs, and the sound sets a small burn in her stomach.

 

When Sasha texts her later ( _u okay, hun?_ ) she replies:

_Fantastic. BTW why didn't you tell me about neck kissing? Neck kissing is great._

She proceeds to ignore Sasha’s increasingly frantic replies, and gets back to business.


	7. you win or you die, but not today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 7: Fandom Crossover.  
> Game of Thrones AU – She thought a knight of the Kingsguard would be more... knightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, RivaMika  
> Notes: I DID IT I WROTE GAME OF THRONES FANFIC! Gomen, GRRM. I've only read the first four books, so, y'know, I might have gotten stuff wrong. Sort of inspired by [this](http://www.nationalgallery.ie/Home/Collection/Irelands_Favourite_Painting/Burton) gorgeous painting, though Levi and Mikasa aren't half as romantic.

It is one year since the thaw began, and the streams are beginning to return to normal, having been swollen by meltwater for the past four seasons and frozen over for three years before that. The air is slowly losing its chill, and for once Mikasa’s nose doesn’t feel like it is going to drop off.

They were allowed to spend a few hours outside, having spent the morning reciting Targaryen kings; Armin got all of them, Mikasa most of them, and Eren almost none. After enduring a tongue lashing, they were set free. Mikasa is spread on the ground, watching Eren try to educate Armin on the finer points of swordsmanship. Armin holds a wooden sword, the point dipping as Eren corrects his grip and instructs him, hands waving wildly. Shadis is supposed to be keeping an eye on them, but Mikasa’s almost certain he’s asleep. Normally, she would join in, but for some reason she doesn’t feel like it.

For a few seconds, she closes her eyes, and pretends that she is in Dorne. The Stormlands are rocky and covered in trees, not at all like her home, but when she feels the sun beating on her eyelids, she is transported back to the deserts of her homeland.

“Oy! Mikasa!” Her eyelids jolt open. Eren is standing in front of her, smiling, extending a hand towards her. “Spar with me? Armin is...”

“No good?” The Maester in training, on a break from his studies in Oldtown to join his ageing grandfather at Storm's End, draws up beside them, blond hair golden in the weak light.

Eren rubs the back of his head sheepishly, closing his green eyes, a memento of his Tyrell heritage. Lady Carla's mother was Lannister; though she did not inherit the lion's emerald eyes, her son did. Strange; the current Lannister's heir, Reiner, has eyes as gold as the money beneath Casterly Rock. Mikasa assumes that all the Houses got mixed in the autumn, as lords and ladies attempted to forge alliances before the winter came. Before Eren can respond, Mikasa hops up. “I'll fight with you... but if I win, you have to muck out Sharra for me.”

“And Aemon!” Armin pipes up.

Eren splutters, but conceded. “Fine... Let's go!”

The battle is not as easy as it usually is. Eren has been training more than usual in an attempt to impress his father, Lord Grisha Baratheon, which Mikasa thinks is nothing but a waste of time. The man's heart is as icy as a Stark's, which makes sense; his lady mother was one. As for Mikasa herself, swordplay has always been easy. When she was younger, she aspired to become a Sand Snake; that ambition was nipped in the bud when her lord father shipped her off to the Stormlands. Usually she goes easy on Eren, but today is not one of those days; she flies at him with full force, feinting and stabbing and generally demolishing Eren. She does not realise that they have an audience.

Eren falls onto his backside, and applause breaks out. Mikasa's first instinct is of offence; she draws her wooden sword and points it towards the newcomer, and almost drops it when she sees his bone white cloak.

“The Lord Commander Levi!” Armin gasps, falling into a bow; haltingly, Mikasa copies him.

Eren, grumbling, gets up. “Three horses to clean up... Mikasa, you need to put a nappy on Sharra, you know-” She can only guess from his muffled 'shit!' that Eren has glimpsed the Kingsguard. His back cracks as he bows.

“Well done, little girl. I never knew a Dornishwoman so good with a sword; bows and babies are usually their preserve... and I never knew a deer to be defeated by a woman.”

“One you give a person a sword, sir, it doesn't matter what's between their legs. All that matters is their skill.” Mikasa straightens up to look this man in the eye.

“Well said, my lady... but now I must take my leave. Tell me, fawn, where is your father?” His hand rests on the pommel of the weapon at his hip; not a longsword as is favoured by knights of his status, but a Water Dancer's signature narrow blade; apt, given the Lord Commander's chequered past.

Eren points at himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Take me to Lord Grisha before I die of old age.” The Lord Commander snaps his fingers imperiously, and Eren scrambles to his side. Eren looks so incongruous in his ornate gold and black tunic compared to this alabaster knight.

“That'll be sooner rather than later,” Mikasa mumbles. Armin hits her in the arm.

“Watch your words, child of Sunspear.” Mikasa glares at him. “Hot mouths are dead ones.” With a flourish of his white cloak he leaves, Eren in close pursuit.

“That insufferable little...!” Her nails dig into her palm, and draw blood.

“The Kingsguard is not a contest of popularity,” Armin reminds her, taking her hand and unclenching each finger one by one. “He's a good man, though. He has won more jousts than anyone in living memory.”

“Jousts do not necessarily translate into martial might,” Mikasa says ominously, taking Armin's other hand. His grandfather's cry catches her ear. “Come; we are called for.”

 

At dinner, it transpires that Lord Grisha has been called to King's Landing. At his right is Lord Commander Levi, who stands up after the last honeycake has been reduced to crumbs.

“As liege to His Grace Darius of House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lord Grisha Baratheon of Storm's End is humbly asked to come to his king's side in his time of need. We ask that Lord Baratheon be present in the Red Keep in three weeks time.” The words hit Mikasa hard. In his time of need? Is the king...?

“Sick?” Armin whispers. Mikasa nods mutely. “Yes, I think so... All the silver chains were called up to King's Landing two months ago. He could die.”

The rest of the hall seems to be thinking the same thing, as it erupts into whispers; even the bards and fools will not quiet the crowd. Mikasa, meeting Eren's troubled green eyes, slips out of the room.

There is a balcony Mikasa favours. It is hidden in a recess of the wall, and as such is protected from the seaspray that daily stains the walls of Durran's Defiance. The sky is replete with stars; the Sword of the Morning in particular is splendid tonight. The sea is stormy grey, white-capped whites roaring in regiments towards the cliffs. To the northwest, the Sapphire Isle is just barely visible.

It is to this balcony that Mikasa flees, mind whirring. Concerns fill her mind; if the king dies, will another War of the Five Kings ensue? Or will his daughter, Annie, marry a cousin and succeed him? If this were Dorne, things would be simple; Annie Targaryen would take the Iron Throne and rule without resistance. This is Westeros, though, and here women cannot rule unaided, though Mikasa would object.

There is another concern, much more minor, yet so important to her. Eren is of a marrying age; her lady Carla had confided in her that Lord Grisha was considering matches for his only son. If there is to be a heave in leadership, that would make Grisha all the more adamant to secure on alliance, and preferably a good one. If House Baratheon go to King's Landing there will be no shortage of eligible ladies, both from the Crownlands and from farther afield. King's Landing will be swamped with noble families.

But even though she worries for Eren, she also worries for herself. She is as good a playing piece as Eren; as the natural daughter of the Prince of Dorne and the foster daughter of House Baratheon, her marriage would bring much power to both of her forebears. She does not think her father would raise any objections; he has Ymir, the wild wannabe Sand Snake, to take care of.

She shakes her head. The sea has always brought her peace, and she will get it. Unfortunately, that is not be; she is joined by a certain short white knight. 

“Lord Commander. I was not expecting your company.” She does not bow, nor does she turn to look at him.

“Neither did I. I was simply looking for somewhere that didn't stink of mead.” He joins her at the railing. “Your dress becomes you.”

Mikasa knows it does; it is darkest navy, fading to a grey bodice studded with tiny diamonds. “I thought carnal desires were beyond the reach of a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Even a eunuch has eyes, and I am no eunuch.” His words are playful, but his voice is not; it sends shivers down her exposed spine. “It is strange, however, to see a woman of Westeros with such command of the sword.”

“It is strange to see a bravo at the head of the Kingsguard.” Mikasa wonders why she said that. All she has heard are rumours, but they must be true, for Levi laughs.

“Touché, my Lady Sand. Yet I am fully capable for the role, as, I hope, are you.”

“The role?” What is he talking of? He must be mad.

“I have talked to Lord Baratheon. You know he is considering your marriage, but I have persuaded him otherwise.” Her heart leaps. Mikasa wishes for no bond with any man other than Eren. “Instead, for the duration of your stay of King's Landing, you will train with me when I am available.”

Her words have dried up. “Why...?”

He is silent; by the time a third wave has died against the walls, he speaks. “To tell you the damning truth, my lady, there are very few fine knights left in Westeros, Tradition strangles us; knights must be noble and pure and male. I have done my best to circumvent these rules, and you will be useful in breaking them further. We need good knights, and you have more promise than any I have seen. Also... we need ladies who can put up with Lady Annie. She is as fond of the sword as you are, and as a future queen would gain much from training with someone so similar to her.” Mikasa has heard tell of the little dragon's supposed obstinacy, but she will put up with Annie Targaryen if it means she gets to train with the best of the best.

“Lord Commander, I...” This act of kindness, so profound, so sincere, has shaken her to her very core.

“Do not disappoint me.” She sees something past the bravado, the pomp of his white armour; it is humanity.

“I can never repay you for this.”

“Oh, but you can.” His eyes shine wickedly.

“...What?” She stares at him, confused.

“What does every poor knight ask of their noble lady?” He darts forward, as light on his feet as a Water Dancer, and takes her hand to kiss it. In the cold of her velvet dress and the frigid night air, his lips are burning.

She yanks her hand back and clutches it to her chest as he straightens up. “There. Debt repaid.”

“W... warn me next time!” The cold air steams against her reddened cheeks.

“So there will be a next time? I look forward to it.” With that he exits, leaving Mikasa in a state of confusion. She turns again to gaze at the seascape, but it shatters into fragments before her. What about this man breaks her resolve? Smacking the granite railing with her hand, she pushes herself back to enter the castle again.

 

Back inside the hall, she does not meet Levi's eyes, but when Armin leaves her alone she thinks of sea air, a stolen kiss and the promise of a sword.


	8. a man crowned with laurels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for RivaMika Week 2 Day 8: Whatever You Like.  
> Teahouse AU – Vulnerabilities come in all shapes and sizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, RivaMika  
> Notes: WOOP MORE TEASHIT. This is a continuation of my previous one-shot, [Chrysanthemum Girl](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1008858/chapters/2001612). The reference to Coriolanus in this is entirely accidental, as I half-wrote this waaaay before I saw it. What is with me and that play? (Answer: Tom Hiddleston.)

It is one in the morning on a winter night, and Levi’s mind is heavy with work and worries, his body weighed down by sleeplessness and hunger. He is walking home from the office when he passes Ajisai Kissaten. He stops, for whatever reason. The door is slightly open, but the shop is silent.

He was back a few times since the ginger tea incident. He didn't talk to her really, just watched her interact with people, watched her move, and she did the same. 

On impulse, he pushes the door open.

She is sweeping up, sleeves of her yukata pushed up around her elbows. Music is playing, not traditional music as is usual, but electropop that is more suited to a nightclub.

She spins around, and halts when she sees him. The broom falls from her hands, clattering against the hardwood floor.

“Can I have some tea?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” she responds automatically, turning away from him.

Levi ignores her and steps further into the shop, but Mikasa stands her ground. “Please,” he says.

She studies him, and after a few tense seconds, nods.

He seats himself in his customary spot, watching her as she vanishes behind the counter. “Peppermint!” he yells, after a few seconds’ thought.

“You’ll get what I make!” she yells back. He sighs, closes his eyes, and slumps against the wall.

God, he’s so tired. He’s only twenty eight, but he feels like an old man of sixty.

When she reappears with a burnished black teapot and a lacquer tray of cups, he sits erect. Today her yukata is duck-egg blue and sandy tan, with a white climbing vine motif. She is (it goes without saying) gorgeous.

She kneels down opposite him and pours the tea; he catches a whiff of peppermint. His eyes fasten on the mark marring the delicate inside of her wrist.

“Are you joining me?” he questions.

She nods. “I made the tea, I might as well have some.” He notices that there is a ghost of a smile on her lips.

When both the cups are full she plunks one down in front of him. He picks it up and takes a long draught; it is scalding, but he revels in the burn. Mikasa sips hers gracefully.

He lowers the cup, and it clunks heavily onto the table. Her eyes track the movement, the precarious slop of the peppermint tea against the rim of the cup, the jut of its base over the edge of the table. She hooks one finger through the handle, and drags it to safety.

“Be careful,” she admonishes, releasing the cup. “These things are very expensive.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Even if I was going to break it, which is highly unlikely, I can pay for it.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but he doesn’t respond, picking the cup up again to take a gulp. His head slumps forward, and his eyelids droop.

“...You look exhausted.”

“I am,” he agrees.

“Why didn’t you get coffee?” she queries, peeking at him over the brim of her cup.

“Too much like work,” he answers, sniffing the tea.

Her eyes are sharp; he can almost feel them cutting into the bags beneath his eyes.

“Stop analysing me,” he tells her when his cup is half-empty.

She bows her head in apology. “Bad habit.”

But she keeps watching him. He can almost see the question forming behind her ink-black eyes.

“Where do you work?” And there it is, the inevitable overstepping of boundaries. He was expecting this since the moment he grabbed her sleeve.

“Department of Defence.” He takes another sip of tea as she processes this.

There is a subsection of the Department of Defence located in this city. It is nondescript, characterised by a small plaque over their door, but much more dangerous things go on inside their offices than the accountancy firm next door. Officially they are called the Survey Corps, a remnant of the oldest days when humanity was caged by walls, but their codename, and more common name, is Coriolanus. Levi wonders if any of them actually know what that entire play was about, but he accepts the cognomen as Caius Martius himself did and their logo; a pair of wings, blue and white, crowned with a bloody laurel wreath.

But maybe she’s heard the rumours, because her eyes brighten. “No wonder you look so...”

“Pissed?” he offers.

She gives him a brief smile, and picks up her cup. The tea has cooled enough now to be drunk without losing a considerable part of your oesophagus, so he does the same.

“What do you do?” he wonders. She begins to answer, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “No, let me guess... You’re working here for your grandparents.”

She nods.

“You go to university, but you’ve taken some time off because you’re worried about them.”

Her face falters.

“Was I wrong?”

“No...” she mutters. She picks up her cup to avoid answering him, and he notes her white knuckles.

“I’ve left something out. Tell me.”

She’s not pleased, he can tell, but when her cup is empty, she answers.

“I study psychology at Sina.” His eyes widen. Sina College is the grandest university out of the three in this city, notoriously hard to get into. Their psychology course has limited places, with only around thirty places available, and most of them taken by rich brats.

“And you left?” His voice is incredulous, yet rightly so; no-one in their right mind would give up a place in Sina.

“I...” It’s painful for her to speak, he can tell. “I couldn’t do it. The work...”

“I thought you were a smart girl,” he sighs.

Her head whips up. “Who are you to criticise me?” The hardening of her posture and the whitening tendons of her fists indicate that he has angered her.

“I am exactly the person to criticise you.” He matches her gaze. “If I had gotten an opportunity like that when I was your age, I wouldn’t be stuck in some military cubicle counting dead bodies, I would be the fucking president. You’re not rich, I can tell, but in comparison I was dirt poor.” He stands up, but she stays sitting, the anger in her eyes beginning to ice over.

Her head falls forward. “You’re right,” she admits, in a small voice.

He runs a hand though his hair. “I... I apologize for that.”

“No... I needed that. I know that. But... I can’t.”

“I’ll help you.” He says it without thinking and almost takes it back, but the way she lifts her eyes to meet his quiets him.

“You will? ... Thank you.” Her mouth stays in its hard line, yet there is a glimmer of something in her eyes that reminds him vaguely of hope.

The music ends, and only dregs of tea are left in the cup. His watch is heavy around his wrist; he needs to get home to his austere apartment, as sterile and industrial as a doctor's clinic, so he can get a few scant hours of troubled sleep.

“Go,” she tells him, gathering cups on teapot back onto their lacquered tray. “Before I drop a cup on your head.”

He shakes his head, and as he passes through the door, he looks back. She is picking up the broom, and as she rises his eyes meet hers. “I'll be back,” he says lamely.

“I never doubted it,” she replies, and disappears into the back of the shop.

When he walks home, he hums along to the electropop playing in his head, and his breath solidifies into peppermint-scented clouds.


End file.
